


Propose

by Whedonista93



Series: Spirit of the Season [4]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:29:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93
Summary: “With me,” Willas commands. “I can’t, in good conscience, let you sleep in the library, in a formal gown, on Sevenmas Eve. It’s just not in the holiday spirit.”
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Willas Tyrell
Series: Spirit of the Season [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039010
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	Propose

“Sansa?” Willas’ lays a hand on Sansa’s shoulder.

Sansa, still in the dark gray gown she’d worn to the party, blinks up at him blearily. “Willas?”

Willas smiles gently. “Why are you sleeping on the couch in the library?”

Sansa’s nose scrunches. “Marg picked someone up at the party.”

Understanding dawns in Willas’ eyes and he winces sympathetically. “And you were rooming with her.”

Sansa nods as she sits up and stretches.

“And Gran invited everyone in Westeros to this party, so every other room is occupied, including every spare room in my private wing.”

Sansa nods again.

Willas sighs. “Right, then. Come on.”

Sansa raises her brows expectantly. “Come where?”

“With me,” Willas commands. “I can’t, in good conscience, let you sleep in the library, in a formal gown, on Sevenmas Eve. It’s just not in the holiday spirit.”

Sansa laughs softly. “What do you propose, then?”

Willas stands and offers his hand.

Sansa takes it and follows him into the hall, toward his wing of the Tyrell family estate. He stumbles about halfway to his rooms, barely managing to catch himself on the wall.

Sansa frowns and reaches for him with the hand not still tucked into his. “Are you alright?”

Willas nods and blushes. “I, uh, appear to have forgotten my cane in the library.”

“Oh,” Sansa says softly. “Do you want me to go back and get it?”

Willas shakes his head. “No, that’s alright. I have others in my rooms. If, um… just, if you wouldn’t mind helping me the rest of the way?”

Sansa smiles and tucks herself under his arm, wrapping her own arm around his waist.

Willas straightens with a weary sigh. “Thank you.”

She squeezes gently. “I’m of Northern stock, Willas. I’m stronger than I look. You _can_ actually lean on me.”

Willas wraps an arm around her shoulder and leans more heavily against her, silently allowing her to take the lead the rest of the way back to his rooms, where he collapses into the nearest chair. “Thank you.”

Sansa reaches up and runs a hand through his curls. “Thank you.”

He frowns. “For what? I’m the one that just used you like a pack mule.”

Sansa laughs. “For trusting me enough to take me at my word that you _could_ use me as a pack mule?”

Willas shakes his head. “Far too many people underestimate you, Sansa Stark.”

Sansa just grins back and drops to the ground in front him, deftly untying and removing his dress shoes. She pauses when her hands brush his brace. “May I?”

Willas blushes. “Uh, I have to take my pants off.”

Sansa simply stands and offers her hands to help him up.

Willas, having known Sansa long enough to recognize her stubborn face, just goes with it. Once he’s out of his pants, she re-settles him on the couch instead of a chair and props his leg out in front of him before deftly undoing his brace.

She frowns. “Your knee is really swollen.”

Willas shrugs. “I was on my feet a lot tonight.”

Sansa’s frown deepens. “It wasn’t hurting you when we danced, was it?”

Willas smiles softly. “No. But even if it had been, it would have been worth it.”

Sansa’s opens her mouth, then bites her lip and shakes her head. “You need to ice this.”

Willas waves lazily toward the en suite. “There’s ice packs in the bathroom.”

Sansa vanishes just long enough to grab an ice pack and a towel. “Twenty minutes,” she orders, settling the pack over his knee.

“Yes, doctor,” Willas snarks.

Sansa sticks her tongue out and rocks back on her heels. “I believe I was promised something other than this dress.”

Willas rolls his eyes. “You know where the closet is. There’s a pack of new underwear in the dresser that should fit you.”

Sansa raises an eyebrow.”

Willas scoffs. “Don’t get any ideas. Marg decided she didn’t like them and threw them at my head for… something. Don’t remember what.”

Sansa giggles. “I believe that. I’m using your shower.”

Willas just waves her on. She comes back half an hour later in one of his university t-shirts that hints at a tiny pair of lacy panties every time she takes a step, tying off her hair in a long braid over her shoulder. Willas swallows thickly. “No sweats?”

Sansa looks pointedly at his bare legs. “I figured fair is fair.”

Willas chuckles and sits up enough to shrug out of his button up. “Now we’re fair.”

Sansa’s answering giggle is interrupted by a yawn.

Willas struggles to his feet. “Bed?”

Sansa steps into his space to steady him. “I can sleep on the couch.”

Willas balances himself with a light grip on her elbows. “No, you can’t. We’re both too damnably tall to sleep on this thing.”

Sansa’s hands tighten at his waist. “What are you suggesting?”

“Come to bed with me,” Willas says gently. “Just to sleep, if that’s all you want.”

Sansa tilts her head back, meeting his eyes. “And if I wanted more than just to sleep?”

Willas smiles. “Then I believe we’ve finally been dancing around one another long enough.”

Sansa goes up on her toes and presses her lips to his.

Willas stumbles back.

Sansa curses. “Bed. Now.”

*

Sansa finds herself quiet, contemplative, after, as she rests against Willas’ bare chest.

“Alright, love?” Willas asks quietly.

Sansa turns and presses a kiss over his heart. “Wonderful. It’s…” She takes a deep breath. “It’s never been like that before.”

Willas’ arm wraps tighter around her. “Gods, San, I would never be like he… I would never.”

“I know,” Sansa reassures him. “Your kindness toward me is one of the many reasons I’ve been hopelessly in love with you for some time now.”

Willas huffs out a breath and relaxes beneath her, tension she hadn’t even realized he was holding draining out of him. “Oh, thank the gods.”

Sansa props herself up on her elbow, looking down at him curiously.

“I feared you would just want…” Willas wave vaguely between them.

Sans leans down and kisses him, long and slow. “Daft man.”

“I love you too, in case I didn’t say that.”

Sansa smiles and kisses him again before settling back into his side. “Do you remember that first summer I came here?”

Willas tugs her closer. “How could I forget? You taught me how to dance again.”

_Sansa sees Margaery’s oldest brother, Willas, sitting alone near the edge of the dancefloor and frowns, making her way through the crowd and sitting down next to him._

_He raises an eyebrow, but offers a nod. “Miss Stark.”_

_“Sansa, please.”_

_“Sansa.”_

_“Why aren’t you dancing?”_

_Willas frowns. “My injury is no secret.”_

_Sansa rolls her eyes. “My brother Bran is wheelchair bound and I taught him to dance. Surely I can teach a man with a limp.”_

_“San-”_

_Sansa doesn’t give him time to argue, simply tugs him to his feet and drags him to the edge of the dancefloor, cane abandoned against the table._

“Margaery was trying to set us up,” Sansa admits.

Willas jerks a bit in surprise. “She was what?”

_“I give up on men,” Sansa laments into her wine._

_Margaery rolls her eyes. “You have yet to be with a real man.”_

_Sansa snickers. “Fair enough. Do you think we could go back to arranged marriages?”_

_“You really trust your parents to set you up with someone you’ll actually like?”_

_Sansa wrinkles her nose. “My mother was responsible for Harry.”_

_“Precisely.”_

_“Well, what do you suggest? Because clearly I can’t manage on my own.”_

_Margaery shrugs, takes a drink of her own wine, then snaps and smiles. “You should date my brother!”_

_Sansa eyes her friend dubiously. “Your brother is gay.”_

_Margaery waves her wine glass through the air. “I have three brothers.”_

_“Isn’t another one of them married?”_

_“Garlan. Yes. But I’m talking about Willas.”_

_“I don’t even know Willas!”_

_“But I do! You’d be perfect for each other! Come to Highgarden with me for the summer. Meet him. No pressure. Just… meet him.”_

Willas groans. “Gods, she’s going to be unbearably smug.”

Sansa giggles. “We don’t have to tell her.”

Willas scoffs and raises on an elbow to look down at her. “Sansa Stark, if you think, for one second, that I’m not going to crow to the whole world you’re mine…”

Sansa reaches up and cups his cheek. “Is that so?”

Willas grins and rolls away from her, digging around in the nightstand by his bedside and emerging with a small box, wrapped in green paper and tied with a golden ribbon.

“It’s dusty,” Sansa observes when he hands it to her.

Willas blushes. “I’ve been trying to work up the courage to give it to since last Sevenmas.”

Sansa sits up, heedless of the sheet falling around her waist, and unties the ribbon before carefully unwrapping the shimmering paper to reveal a small wooden box. A crystal clear diamond surrounded by emeralds on a gold band etched with roses shines up at her. She blinks rapidly, looking up at Willas.

Willas gently takes the hand she’s not clutching the box with. “Marry me, Sansa?”

*

Sansa wakes up alone, but a few pleasant aches and the skin-warm metal around her finger assure her that last night wasn’t a dream. She stretches languidly before she sits up and notices a bit of paper on Willas’ pillow.

_Went for breakfast._

_-W.T._

Sansa smiles and slips from bed, slipping back into Willas’ t-shirt before going to the bathroom to freshen up. She reluctantly shrugs into yesterday’s bra and snags a clean pair of underwear, then steals a pair of Willas’ sweats and socks before deeming herself decent enough for public appearance. She lets herself out into the hall and makes her way down to the main hall, where a buffet style breakfast is laid out. Sansa can’t help but smile at the sight of Willas across the room, trying to maneuver his can and balance a tray of food.

 _Gods forbid he ask for help_. Sansa rolls her eyes fondly and makes her way to him, reaching around him to balance the tray just before it tips completely over.

“Than-” Willas turns and startles a bit. “Sansa!”

Sansa smiles and presses a kiss to his cheek, deftly removing the tray from his grip. “Good Morning.”

“I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.”

“Sweet, but unnecessary.”

They finish filling the tray before finding a table against the windows. Sansa shamelessly sits in the V of Willas’ legs, his bad leg stretched out behind her. Margaery swans in ten minutes later, last night’s hook-up trailing behind her.

“Not Marg’s usual type,” Willas observes.

Sasa glances up. “Oh, gods, she finally did it!”

Willas raises a brow.

Sansa grins. “That’s Bronn Blackwater.”

“That supposed to mean something?”

“He runs a private security firm in King’s Landing. Marg hired him for a charity event last year and they’ve been flirting relentlessly ever since, but neither one of them has ever actually tried anything.”

“Apparently one of them finally did,” Willas snorts.

“Thank the gods,” Sansa declares. “It was getting painful.”

Willas chuckles and tucks his chin over Sansa’s shoulder. “Marg could probably say the same thing about us.”

Sansa leans back against him. “True.”

He wraps an arm around her waist, taking her hand and idly brushing his thumb over the ring on her finger. “She’s coming this way. Do we tell her?”

Sansa bites her lip, but before she can answer, Margaery slumps onto the bench next to Santa, Bronn sprawling next to her.

Margaery shoves her plate to the side to drop her head to the table with a groan.

“A bit too much, sis?” Willas teases.

Margaery turns her head enough to glare. “You two look awfully cozy.” She straightens up. “I swear to… if you two finally got together and I wasn’t there to see it…”

Sansa smirks. “You, my friend, were too busy finally banging Bronn.”

Willas tilts his head toward the other man. “Thank you for that, by the way.”

Bronn raises his coffee mug. “Half expected a knife to the gut, to be honest.”

Willas chuckles. “As cringe worthy as it is to thank someone for banging my baby sister... who knows when Sansa and I would have gotten our shit together if San hadn’t been banished from her room? So, yeah thanks for that.”

Margaery, hangover apparently forgotten, launches herself across the scant space between them, squealing as she hugs them both. “Finally!”

Sansa rolls her eyes and Willas rests his head against Sansa’s head.

Loras and Renly join them, then, slumping into chairs across the table.

Sansa feels Willas smile against her hair. “Are we the only ones who didn’t get completely plastered last night?”

Renly sticks his tongue out. “Also the only ones who didn’t get laid last night.”

Loras snorts. “Try again. San’s wearing Willas’ shirt. And Gran’s ring.” His eyes go wide. “Holy shit! She’s wearing Gran’s ring!”

Margaery grabs Sansa’s hand and her eyes narrow dangerously at her brother. “Willas?”

“Margaery,” Willas returns blandly.

“I have been scheming to get you two together for the last two years, and you got together, and _got engaged_ , all in one night and I wasn’t there to see any of it!”

“Unless you wanted to see your brother naked, I promise you didn’t want to see any of it.”

Margaery’s jaw drops. “You proposed while you were naked?”

Sansa shrugs. “It was a smart move. I don’t think there’s much I would say no to in that state of satisfaction.”

Loras chokes on his coffee.

Margaery turns red. “Gods! I changed my mind. You two can’t be together. I’ll never be able to talk to you about sex again, San!”

Sansa waves her hand in Margaery’s face smugly. “Too late.”

“I see you finally found a suitable hand to put my ring on,” Olenna’s voice joins the conversation a moment before the woman herself drops gracefully into the seat next to Loras, mimosa in hand

“And Merry Sevenmas to you, Gran,” Willas greets in a dry tone.

“Yes, yes,” Olenna waves her glass at him. “Merry Sevenmas. What’s it going to take to talk you into a New Year’s wedding?”


End file.
